


A Fate Undeserved

by SirSapling



Category: Marvel, Marvel Ultimates
Genre: Angst, Cancer, Character Death, Grief/Mourning, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Secret Relationship, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Unhappy Ending, heed the warnings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-26
Updated: 2017-11-26
Packaged: 2019-02-07 07:09:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12835938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SirSapling/pseuds/SirSapling
Summary: One of the first things Steve thinks about when it happens is that despite the probabilities, the evidence pointing to the contrary, the sad, pitiful looks shot his way, he never thought Tony would die first.





	A Fate Undeserved

**Author's Note:**

> So, this happened sort of by accident because SOMEONE wanted to tempt me into meta and I accidentally wrote a fic and didn't realise till after.
> 
> Thank you [BardingBeedle](http://bardingbeedle.tumblr.com) for letting me leave ridiculously long paragraphs about ults in your inbox, taunting me with ideas, then pointing out the 2000 words I'd dropped in your messages could be a fic, and then finally Beta-ing it into something actually readable. This wouldn't have happened without you.
> 
> Finally, before moving on PLEASE heed the warnings above, and if you want more details spoilers are in the notes at the end.

One of the first things Steve thinks about when it happens is that despite the probabilities, the evidence pointing to the contrary, the sad, pitiful looks shot his way, he never thought Tony would die first.

He knows Tony is human, that Tony will age faster than him, that Tony is more fragile, that Tony’s cancer is at his back at all times. Yet when it happens, Steve is stuck thinking only that this is  _ wrong _ .

Unlike the rest of their lives, it’s inane. They’d been together that morning, Steve had woken to Tony hacking coughs into his arm in an effort not to disturb him, before giving up entirely and rushing to the bathroom. Steve, used to this, allows himself a second to miss Tony’s warm weight at his side, before he rolls up to help the man, who at this point is well-used to Steve’s henning. 

They are used to this, and Tony’s been doing so well recently that it was only so long before he had another bad day. So Steve doesn’t think much of it, bundles Tony back into bed where they cuddle till a meeting with the team and Fury forces them to move.

Tony looks grey in the face but is jovial as he tells Steve he’s fine and they can go, and Steve lets him because he hates these meetings and Tony has made it abundantly clear how he feels about being bed bound by this, because,  _ “Steve, I’ll be doing nothing for years if I do what you’re suggesting, darling, I’m just living with my illness. Come on, remember the pamphlet?” _ So their day goes on like any other, splitting off with kisses incredibly difficult to pull away from, and touches too tempting not to lean into, as they leave the townhouse, and meeting again at the Triskelion, the routine already in place, solid and comforting.

Steve tries not to watch Tony during meetings. It’s hard, but he manages, and so he doesn’t notice the way Tony’s hands are shaking worse than normal, and the little hints of pain that are slipping through the facade, accompanied by occasional coughs. 

It’s towards the end of the meeting when it happens. Tony begins to stand, no doubt to dash for the nearest restroom again. Steve looks to him, watching him rise, and Steve sees the moment everything goes wrong. The moment that would define the rest of his life. And Tony’s. 

Tony gets halfway up, before his knees buckle and he loses control of himself, and Steve is already moving, with a speed rivalling Pietro on his worst day. Steve catches Tony around the back and has already fallen to his knees, following Tony, but he doesn’t let his cover waver as he asks Tony if he’s alright, and Tony can only rasp at him unintelligibly as he coughs again, eyes unfocused and hazy.

Which is when Steve sees it - the first drip of blood from Tony’s nose.

The alarm bells ringing in Steve’s brain were too loud, his mind screaming at him in a language he couldn’t quite comprehend just then, every fibre of his being demanding at once to get Tony fixed, to get him to be  _ okay _ , so as carefully but quickly as he could, he hooks a hand behind Tony’s knees and cradles him to his chest as he sprints for the Triskellion medical ward, ignoring the team and talking at Tony, low and blunt.

_ “Stay awake, soldier.” _

_ “Come on Tony, don’t sleep, you can’t sleep.” _

_ “Tony, your eyes, please, please. Keep them on me, right on me.”  _

He tries to sooth him, though in reality it’s Steve who’s beginning to panic, it’s sneaking into his tone and his body because he can feel Tony going limp in his arms.

Once he reaches medical the facade of strict calm is up again, using what Tony had so fondly called his “Cap voice” to demand a bed and medical staff. As soon as Tony is laid down, Steve is practically shoved to the side by doctors and nurses, so he moves to the head of Tony’s bed, his mind churning.

Tony had been growing more and more pale since his fall, but in a trade-off he seemed to have regained some consciousness, and he’s staring intently at Steve, his face determined, as if he’s trying desperately to commit Steve to memory, to remember everything about him like it’s his last chance, and the increasingly hysterical part of Steve’s brain points out that’s what he should be doing too, he should be committing every minuscule aspect of Tony to his perfect memory, he needs to know every pattern, scar, detail from every angle, needs to know the exact slope of Tony’s nose, the curve of his ear, the line of his goatee, because Tony’s not looking better and the clamour from the multiple doctors beside him is sounding frustrated and angry and  _ desperate _ . Steve can feel himself losing control, the cover they so carefully organised is slipping and for the first time in a long time Steve feels terrified, and the second Tony winces and coughs again, blood splattering against his lip, Steve moves to his head, fingers stroking at Tony’s temple and hairline as he tries to soothe Tony, and himself, because who gives a shit about people knowing now, this is more important.

But Tony looks oddly calm, relaxed, like a man who has realised he’s not got long left, so he needs to use what he has, he reaches for Steve with a hand not hooked into an IV and Steve clutches it in his own as his eyes dart across Tony’s face, trying to figure out something, anything he can do because he’s never felt so helpless in his life. 

Steve can’t punch cancer, can’t kick the bleeding in Tony’s brain, this isn’t something he can fight with brute force, so he’s stuck praying to every divine being in existence, every god he has and hasn’t believed in to fix this, fix Tony, keep him  _ here _ , keep him with Steve, because Steve thinks he deserves that, at least that. Deserves to have Tony, after all the bullshit he’s had to go through, deserves to keep one good thing. 

By now they’ve tugged a mask over Tony’s mouth, so Tony, smart even in his darkest hour, starts to slowly but firmly, as firmly as he could, tap his thumb against Steve’s where their hands are curled together, first to get Steve’s attention. And then when he has it, he slowly taps out “I-L-O-V-E-Y-O-U” in morse against his wrist, and Steve has to stifle the agonised sound clawing its way out of his throat, as he brings his forehead down to Tony’s, whispering back words of affection Tony isn’t used to hearing from him. Steve rambles his love into Tony’s hair and demands he pull through. Tony keeps tapping, repeating this phrase till his hand goes limp in Steve’s, and Steve is bodily shoved away from the bed as the doctors try frantically to restart Tony’s heart.

But it doesn’t work, and Steve is left standing lost and afraid, gazing at where Tony’s body (his  _ body,  _ not Tony, Tony’s not, he’s not, not anymore-) isn’t responding, the sound of the machine that's supposed to record the thumps of Tony’s heart screaming in his ears, filling his senses till he feels his knees give out. Strong arms catch him as he falls, and Thor tugs him away, out of the doctors’ way and into the corridor, a wetness dripping off his chin he doesn’t remember creating till he realises his eyes are leaking. Thor looks panicked too, but Steve can’t quite find it in himself to care, static and white noise filling up his brain as he stares at the closed door, where he can hear to doctors scrabbling about, and then at his hands when he is shoved into a chair, streaked with red from Tony’s mouth and nose when Steve had tried to pet and soothe him.

When, what feels like an infinite amount of time later they come to tell him what Steve already knows, Steve’s act is up and his face blank, slipping into the strict Captain persona for some semblance of control, because he didn’t need some fucking doctor to tell him Tony was dead, he knows, knows it in his being, but he nods at the doctor, asks Thor to make any arrangements (because he can’t bear it, because if he has to do that he will lose the tenuous control he has, even though Thor is gazing at him sadly, the only man alive who knows exactly who Steve was to Tony, and who Tony was to Steve, though he supposes the doctors in that room might know now, Tony would have them sign an NDA, Steve doesn’t give a shit anymore) and Steve marches away to tell Fury.

Steve allows himself one night to go to the townhouse, just one night, but the second he’s through the door, he’s struck suddenly by how much Tony has adorned their room, despite having lived there for so long. When Steve had first moved in he’d thought Tony had almost no personal touch, but now it’s everywhere, Tony’s slippers next to Steve’s, their sleep pants piled together on the end of the bed, his meds on the dresser, and Steve is suddenly choked by rage, grabbing the tiny orange bottle that was supposed to fix Tony and hurling it off the balcony of their room, anger churning as more stray tears slip over his chin, before collapsing on the bed, feeling empty again, assaulted by the reminder that Tony won’t be joining him, won’t saunter out of the bathroom with a joke and a smile before curling up behind Steve, won’t touch him again, and Steve buries his nose in Tony’s pillow, infused with his smell, with his presence, with Tony, who was  _ just _ here, just this morning, and now, now-

He doesn’t sleep. But in the morning he gathers his essentials, stuffing them into a bag to leave, to return to his apartment because this was Tony’s home, Tony’s place, this was  _ Tony _ , and Steve can’t bear to be surrounded by the luxury Tony spoiled him with when Tony isn’t here with him. He shoves toiletries and personal items into bags until not even he could tell he lived there, the room is bare of his presence (if he takes some of Tony’s things that smell strongest too, well sue him. Tony won’t). 

It’s as he’s leaving that he remembers, something in his chest wrenching violently as he does, and he walks back into  ~~ their ~~ the room quietly, almost cautiously, to reach behind the dresser, into the safe that held their rings, and carefully slipping his on, putting the box with Tony’s into his pocket (anyone who sees the ring can fuck off and speculate, he  _ needs _ this. It’s all that’s left, and he needs this).

He returns to his apartment, though he hasn’t been there in months, and goes about putting his things away, before he curls up on the couch and lets himself shudder and quake with grief again. His phone lights up again but he ignores it, he needs a day, and then he’ll go back. The next day he does, blank-faced and controlled as he walks back into S.H.I.E.L.D. and asks for his next mission. People keep trying to talk to him about it, to mourn the loss of his teammate with the team and it takes all of his power not to punch them until they bleed, because Tony was more, so much more, but Steve sticks to the cold, careful mask he’s dredged up from the emptiness in his heart, created when Tony died, and he moves on, or he tries to, tries to move on, keep going like he always has before but Tony’s changed him, nothing feels right without him here, this is nothing like the losses he’s weathered before, this is all-consuming, everything is different, every touch, taste, and smell, every sense. Tony had become such an integral part of his life that he’s changed him fundamentally, deeply, irrevocably. 

But Steve pushes on till the funeral, pushes on through solemn stares and whispered words as people remark about how Captain America seems to have changed since Tony Stark’s death, meaner and colder than before, as if it’s something unexpected, out of the ordinary. Moves on despite the look Thor gives him every damn time he catches his eye, until it’s the day of Tony’s funeral, and Steve is once again invited to give the eulogy like he always fucking is, but Steve gets to the pulpit and he can’t, he can’t do it, and it’s not till he’s run from the hall that he realises he’s crying, big fat tears masked by the rain once he’s outside, because at least the world has the decency to mourn with him. It’s out there that Steve realises he can’t just go on this time, can’t just keep moving, and he’s left sitting on a bench in the pouring rain as he tries to figure out what the fuck he’s supposed to do now when his heart and soul have been torn to shreds.

He’s never felt so alone.

**Author's Note:**

> Tony dies, and there are descriptions alluding to him suffering a brain haemorrhage/internal bleeding.


End file.
